


Legs

by yeaka



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Exhibitionism, Ficlet, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 00:34:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19878673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Napstablook finds Mettaton practicing for a new kind of show.





	Legs

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Undertale or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Normally, Napstablook wouldn’t _dare_ go over to Mettaton’s house unannounced, _especially_ not at night, because they’re not _really_ that close anymore: Mettaton’s gone off and become one of—no, _the_ — biggest star in the underground, and Napstablook’s still... _nobody._

But Napstablook still cares for his once-friend as much as he always did, maybe even _more_ now that Mettaton’s really come into his own. With the achievements of his new body and fulfilled dream, Mettaton’s become everything he’s ever wanted: he’s more _himself_ than ever before. Napstablook admires that. He admires _everything_ about Mettaton. And he worries about Mettaton sometimes—all that fame and pressure—even worse when he hears low moaning in the middle of the night, and not the usual ghostly kind. 

At first, he just hovers outside the door, fretting that he can’t knock. He could yell and _ask_ what’s wrong, but what if nothing’s wrong, and he disturbs the most important person in his not-life? Then Napstablook tells himself he’ll just take a _little_ peak, just to make sure that Mettaton’s alright, and he guiltily phases through the door. 

He drifts in across the scattered path of used diaries and pauses right before the bed—Mettaton is lying on the floor next to it, writhing and groaning, but not in pain. 

At least, Napstablook doesn’t _think_ Mettaton’s in pain. He looks too fabulous for that. Not that he doesn’t _always_ look fabulous. With his long, curvaceous body sprawled out across the floor, Mettaton has his black legs bent at the knees, his high-heeled pink boots just barely touching the floor. His thick thighs are spread, his skin-tight rubber pants rolled low down his hips, both metallic hands thrust inside. There’s a glowing, viscous liquid spilling out across his stomach that, at first, Napstablook fears might be the android equivalent of a human’s blood. But Mettaton’s handsome face is pinched in the perfect picture of _pleasure_ —no anguish anywhere to be found. 

His one visible eye flutters open, and the bright lens fixes on Napstablook. Mettaton’s full lips draw into a smile, and he purrs in his most alluring voice, “ _Blooky_... so nice of you to drop by...!”

“Oh, um...” Napstablook mumbles, before just trailing off. He doesn’t really have anything to say. Mettaton closes his eye again and tosses his head back, arching his chest off the floor as a deep moan filters out of his throat. For a few seconds, Napstablook’s paralyzed by the view, and then he manages to blurt, “Are you okay...?”

“Of course, darling,” Mettaton coos. He brings one hand up to run along his cheek, slicking the liquid across his silver skin and reaching up into his hair. His whole body seems to be thrumming, squirming about as his other hand continues its ministrations inside his pants. Napstablook didn’t even realize those _were_ pants before—he thought it was just part of Mettaton’s amazing legs. Trust Mettaton to be full of surprises. “I’m just practicing for a new show idea... a _late night_ show... you know, they’re all the rage with humans...”

“ _Late night_...?” Napstablook numbly repeats. He can’t seem to take his eyes off Mettaton’s crotch, which is really saying something, because Mettaton’s face is absolutely mesmerizing. Mettaton hums a low chuckle. 

“You haven’t heard of them? Blooky, dear, they’re one of the best parts of human television! It’s where all the hottest stars go... to show off their dirty, dirty talents and satiate those poor, hungry viewers...”

If Napstablook had blood, it’d be rising to his cheeks. Maybe it is anyway. He had no idea humans had _dirty_ shows—but then, he never had the interest in humans that Mettaton did. Maybe he should. 

Merely to extend the conversation, Napstablook asks, “Did Dr. Alphys tell you about them...?”

Mettaton laughs. It’s always a gorgeous sound, one that vibrates through every one of Napstablook’s barely-there cells. “She didn’t have to! I’ve seen what sort of things she likes to watch... and frankly, they don’t hold a candle to what _I_ could do. What do you think, darling? Wouldn’t you rather watch me than one of her silly human stars?”

Napstablook has no idea what Dr. Alphys’ favourite stars look like, and he doesn’t have to, because they couldn’t possibly be better than Mettaton. No one is. Mettaton asks him so sweetly, “Please, will you watch me?”

Napstablook means to nod but might just be blankly staring. Mettaton correctly takes that as a yes and moans his pleasure at it, biting his bottom lip and thrusting up into his hand. He runs the second one back down his body, smoothing over every shining dip and curve, only to trace his own crotch. Once both hands have disappeared back inside his pants, clearly busy working directly _skin-to-skin_ , Mettaton winks and purrs, “Wouldn’t you like to see the _uncensored_ version, beautiful? Well, I’m afraid that part’s the paid content.” He laughs at his own joke, if it even is that. Napstablook doesn’t have much money, even with all the snail race’s income, but he’d happily give it all to Mettaton for an unfettered view. 

It goes on like that for a little longer, not long enough—Napstablook just ogling his greatest friend and crush and Mettaton presumably fucking himself with his own fingers. He writhes and groans and whimpers, spilling every erotic sound imaginable and grinding and thrusting with such sensual grace. When he whines, “I’m so close...” Napstablook thinks he’s going to die. Again. 

Then Mettaton goes rigid and cries out, “Blooky!” before screaming and shaking uncontrollably. The front of his pants stains darker, more of the bubbling liquid dribbling out around his wrists. Napstablook has never felt so _privileged_.

Napstablook has never felt lucky in his life. He feels _extremely_ lucky now. Mettaton lets out one last elated moan, then withdraws his hands and abruptly rolls around onto his stomach. His legs bend up, ankles crossing, slowly and aimlessly kicking back and forth as he wrests his chin in his palm. Through a conceited smirk that he’s completely earned, Mettaton asks, “Well, darling? What do you think?”

Thoroughly impressed, Napstablook sincerely gushes, “That was... oh... great... lots of people will watch that...”

Mettaton _beams_ at him. “Oh, Blooky, you always know what to say!”

Napstablook quivers his version of a nod, only for Mettaton to abruptly sit up and reach out to hug him. Anyone else’s arms would slip right through Napstablook’s incorporeal body, but Mettaton’s calibrated just right, and he manages to cocoon Napstablook in a warm embrace that has Napstablook bizarrely _happy_.

He doesn’t want the hug to ever stop. But of course it does, because Napstablook’s un-life is like that. It shows him nice things, then rips them away. 

Mettaton chirps, “Well, I’d best turn off for the night—have to conserve my batteries, you know! But you should come over tomorrow and we can work on a background song for my extraordinary show.”

“Oh... that’d be nice...”

“Nice? It’ll be spectacular!”

“...Oh, you’re right... I’ll... see you then...”

Mettaton waves, blows a kiss, and Napstablook dazedly floats away.


End file.
